


the sucker

by antpelts



Series: losers, geeks, whoever [2]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Canon Compliant, Eating Disorders, Healing, Hospitalization, Hospitals, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Misgendering, Post-Canon, Recovery, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Trans Jeremy Heere, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:15:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24332686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antpelts/pseuds/antpelts
Summary: Things went back to normal. Or, rather, Jeremy pretended things were normal. Freaking out was his normal - horrible, nervous, worried. So he was normal. Though, even if he was normal that didn’t mean Michael was. Whatever was going on between them wasn’t normal, the fear of ruining their friendship any further made him keep his mouth shut. He always seemed to make things worse when he opened his mouth.// part two of a three part boyf riends series
Relationships: Jeremy Heere/Michael Mell, eventual - Relationship
Series: losers, geeks, whoever [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755037
Comments: 7
Kudos: 77





	the sucker

**Author's Note:**

> big big warnings for eating disorders, suicidal thoughts, self harm, suicide attempt (overdose), and general self hatred as well as some thinly veiled transphobia/misgendering (jeremy being roomed with girls, its nothing intense). as always i dont really get into gorey details, but it is heavy nonetheless. most things are heavily implied without directly saying it as to make it hopefully less triggering for people who may still want to read because who doesnt love some angst.  
> take care of yourself! a lot of this is borne out of personal experiences and i want you all the know it gets better! i love you all and soon the final part of this story will be here and we can get some nice stuff at the end of the tunnel.

Things went back to normal. Or, rather, Jeremy pretended things were normal. Freaking out  _ was _ his normal - horrible, nervous, worried. So he was normal. Though, even if he was normal that didn’t mean Michael was. Whatever was going on between them wasn’t normal, the fear of ruining their friendship any further made him keep his mouth shut. He always seemed to make things worse when he opened his mouth. Each day was an added weight to the crushing pressure on his chest, Michael deserved more, didn’t he? He deserved effort, deserved someone better than the husk he’d become since last year’s play. So maybe he wasn’t normal. Maybe he was a little off. He was tired, always so tired. More often than not he found his eyes unfocused, looking at nothing in particular. The hollow pit in his chest stretched wider with each passing day, yearning and aching.

He just kept his mouth shut.

They hung out, sometimes. The last half of junior year was the closest to normal they got. It was almost ironic, time didn’t seem to heal either of them.

It started with Christine, not that he blamed her! They dated for a solid four months without so much as holding hands. She was great, Jeremy truly believed that but between the lingering voices bouncing around his skull and the image he’d built up in his head.. it both wasn’t what he hoped for, and he believed he still didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to be happy.

_ ‘Everything about you is so terrible.’ _

The words swarmed his brain until they suffocated him, it was right. He’d never be able to truly get rid of it. He’d never be alone, in the worst way.

They broke up right before summer break, it didn’t seem fair to keep going any longer. Besides, Christine was going to a theater camp and part of him hoped she’d meet someone more compatible for her there without him holding her back. If he couldn’t be happy.. others could.

It gave him more time with Michael. Sometimes they’d play games but without the squip he just felt so useless - even months later nothing felt right without it controlling him. Games were hard when he needed to actually  _ try  _ and it wasn’t long before he got frustrated to the point of giving up. His breaths would get short and he’d find an excuse to go home. It wasn’t fair to make Michael take care of him anymore, he could handle his own panic attacks. Well, maybe he couldn’t but that didn’t mean Michael needed to. By the time the summer ended he couldn’t force himself to go to Michael’s house anymore. He felt like an intruder in the one place that had become a second home to him.

_ ‘Everything about you makes  _ him  _ wanna die.’ _

Hadn’t he done enough damage? It was better to leave him alone, Michael was better off without him.

The most he’d allow himself was hanging out with Michael in a group outing - though.. Michael liked his space. He avoided most Pinkberry and bowling alley trips. By September even that ended, the most they saw of each other was at school. They shared lunch until Michael stopped going to the cafeteria at all. Trying to keep himself from being too disappointed he tried to focus on everyone else. They still talked to him, that was good, right?

Except it wasn’t - nothing was good. It was fake, all fake. They pitied him, he could see it in the way they looked at him. Their words were often too careful, as if he’d shatter if they looked at him wrong.

Just like that he was back to being the weirdo.

It was easy enough to stop talking to everyone, all he had to do was skip lunch. He was fairly sure Rich was in his gym class but he just had to plead enough with the nurses, claiming his binder was making it hard to breathe and he’d be excused. No one else was in any of his classes,as without the squip he’d dropped back a bit - no AP, nothing special. The only one in similar classes was Rich, though he had them at different times. At least he had that going for him.

Back to being the wuss.

Lunch was like the plague to him, he’d do anything to escape it. When the bell rang he’d rush to the single unisex bathroom, hoping some couple hadn’t taken it over to make out. If it was occupied he’d practically run to the nurse, ducking and dodging to keep himself from being seen. Every time he caught sight of a splash of red hair, of a red hoodie, of a yellow cardigan, he’d jump and duck. He’d throw himself against lockers, down side halls, behind trash cans.

He was sure he looked like a freak.

_ ‘Pathetic.’ _

It was pathetic - what even was there to be scared of?

He would always be the underdog.

Despite his best efforts to focus on school and nothing else, his anxieties were so loud. Most study nights would turn into silent panic attacks, clutching a pillow in trembling hands. He couldn’t even do well in the easiest classes. Eventually he stopped bringing home any graded tests, immediately dropping them in the trash. He didn’t even want to think about his report card. Looking down at another 65 circled in red marker he felt his breaths get shallow. 10 minutes, he only had to make it 10 minutes. Class would be over, he could leave. He could run without looking back.

Just a misfit.

The looks he got weren’t lost on him. Quirked eyebrows, whispers, laughs. He went from nothing to everything, then he went right back to nothing. Just like that. He was just the kid who ruined the school play with ecstasy. His five minutes of fame were over, everyone fixed him with the same look. It was caught somewhere between pity and disgust.

_ ‘Disgusting, they can all see it.’ _

Jeremy was practically numb to the voice, swallowing thickly. He thought a silent agreement.

_ ‘Back to being left out, unsure, and ugly.’ _

Before he could stop himself he was nodding to himself, eyes falling out of focus as he shouldered through the crowd to make his way to the back doors to the school. Eventually people parted around him, as if touching him would taint them.

So old-school, so analog.

A familiar jealousy had tried to bubble up in his chest whenever his thoughts strayed towards Michael. It didn’t make sense, how could Michael get away with being exactly like him? From what he’d seen people respected him - Rich walked with him to class. 

Their bags were covered in the same type of pins - they had bought most of them together. Michael had sewn a few retro patches onto his bag. What was wrong with how he was doing it?

_ ‘You’re just so terrible.’ _

The voice seemed to gain a more singsong tone as the days melted into each other. As if it seemed to notice how it was slowly breaking him down. Really he wasn’t sure if it was himself or if it actually was still what was left of the squip. He wasn’t sure it really mattered.

An oddball, but not in the loveable way.

All of Jeremy’s quirks were just..

_ ‘Gross.’ _

“Right. Gross.” The words were strained, whispered in the dark of his bedroom.

_ ‘I can’t believe you wasted your chance to be something amazing.’ _

“I’m sorry.” 

_ ‘Now you just have that lisp, that stammer, the twitches and ticks. Who is going to love all of that?’ _

“No one.”

_ ‘No one?’ _

“All of me.. me.. is,” the words cracked, threatening to die on his tongue, “is something even a mother couldn’t lo.. lo.. love.”

A small bit of spittle fell from his lips as the ‘s’ sounds stumbled out of his mouth. He winced, gross. He pictured her - his mother. The last time he’d seen her was before bed. When he’d woken up she was gone. It was then when he realized he was just inconsequential.

Just a weakling freak.

Another afternoon was spent with the nurse. Some time during first period he felt his chest tighten up, something different than the squeeze of his binder. It was the familiar embrace of his fears, of his anxieties. He was just surprised he didn’t break down before he managed to lock himself in the nurse’s bathroom. Once he stumbled out, cheeks lined with tear tracks, the nurse looked over him, waving her hand. With a short nod he ducked away into her office, it was more private than being out in the room on a cot. At least this way any sick students wandering in wouldn’t see him.

_ ‘You couldn’t even make it to lunch today?’ _

“I’m sorry,” the whisper was choked as it slipped out, quiet enough as to not draw any attention. “I’m sorry.”

_ ‘I suppose it’s not like you need it, at least.’ _

* * *

October seemed to drag on, Jeremy didn’t make a habit of looking at the date too often. Each morning he’d check to see if it was a day he had school but he seemed to forget where he was in the week by the time he finally got to school. For once the date stuck in his head, though.

It was the week before Halloween.

A week until the anniversary of one of the worst days of his life.

_ ‘Of your life? What about Michael? The day you ruined  _ his  _ life.’ _

For once he made it through the day without breaking down, well, fully. There were a few bathroom trips during classes that he took to calm his breathing, aside from that he was able to pretend to hold it together. When the final bell rang he felt some of the tenseness leave his shoulders. Breaths were still shaky, though, as he slung his bag over his back and rushed out the door. A few looks were cast his way and it made his skin feel as if it was on fire. 

Back to being the loser.

The geek.

The whatever.

All the sacrifices he made were for nothing - no Christine, no Michael, no friends, no popularity. The only thing left was the squip and he rendered it unable to even help him anymore, just a voice. A voice that was there to remind him of how he failed it along with everyone else in his life. All the objectives he set, he ruined. Not only did he destroy all his bonds to get to the end.. he destroyed that happy ending too. He failed everything, everyone, even a supercomputer. Amazing, experimental technology, and he rendered it useless, stuck in the back of his head. All of its functions were stripped away and all it could do was remind him of how he was falling short of everything it had planned for him.

It was true. He was the problem, he was the problem all along.

Rounding the corner he dodged through the student body in an attempt to get out of the building. He kept his head down, struggling to keep his breathing steady. All he had to do was make it outside. Outside. Outside.

With the doors drawing closer he finally raised his head, in his final stretch. It was a mistake though, the second he looked up he caught someone’s gaze. A familiar red sent a shock through his system - he flinched inwardly, it was practically as bad as the spinal stimulation he’d gotten. The red was attached to one Michael Mell, not a hoodie, though. Not the hoodie Jeremy had helped him sew patches onto. It was the jacket he’d made himself the summer he realized hoodies didn’t fit all of his outfit ideas. At the time Jeremy had laughed fondly, flopping over in his beanbag chair. Now it was a reminder of the distance between them.

Something unreadable flashed in Michael’s eyes, a hand moved to grab onto his headphones and before anything could happen Jeremy ducked his head and jogged out the doors. The pressure of his binder was suffocating but he picked up his pace as soon as he was outside. He ran along the back of the building, passing soccer and football fields, passing the parking lot.

He made it home in record time.

* * *

For senior year he spent Halloween alone.

It was better that way.

Jeremy’s dad had ordered a pizza. For once Jeremy wished he’d just cooked dinner but he’d insisted a holiday was special and instead of forcing his son to eat something healthy they’d have a little treat. With a mumbled complaint about homework Jeremy just put two pieces of the pizza onto a plate and disappeared up the stairs with a tense smile.

Once he was in his room he set the plate down on his desk where it would go untouched, where the cheese would cool off and become a gross consistency. He sat himself on his bed, crossing his arms over himself. The weight of his cardigan was familiar, comfortable. For exactly that reason he slipped it off, the buzz of the squip’s voice was loud in the back of his head, everything was so muddled that he could only pick out a few scattered words.

_ ‘Horrible. Ugly. Terrible. Disgusting.’ _

With shuddering gasps he dragged hands back and forth over his jeans, shaking as a chill shot down his spine. There was a soft sound as his shirt hit the ground, he didn’t even remember pulling it off. He didn’t remember standing up. But here he was, standing in front of the mirror on the back of his door. The sight he was met with made him cringe - small shoulders, hip bones peeking out from where his jeans slipped away from his waist, thin arms with thin scars and scabs raised up on them.

Breaths got shorter until his knees were shaking and he stumbled over to his dresser, pulling an old soapbox out from underneath his socks. Slipping the lid off he looked down at the contents, chest aching. Trembling fingers pulled things out until he was able to sink down against the wall, what harm could a few more scars do?

_ ‘Count.’ _

The command made his throat feel tight, he could ignore it. He could easily ignore it, the voice had no power left. But neither did he. He was defeated, he was a shell of the sad person he’d been before. So he obeyed.

“One..”

* * *

As the sun sank behind the trees all he was able to do was pull off his binder, crawling into bed as soon as he was sure the bleeding stopped. He yearned for a shower, feeling heavy with the sweat on his body. There was no energy though, there never was. Instead he pulled blankets up to cover his chest, falling asleep easily.

Funnily enough it was the best sleep he’d had in a while.

* * *

It was already November, the year was nearly over and he was the same as always. Stupid, weak, gross, a failure. He was slipping up, his dad had begun to notice his lacking effort in school. It didn’t help that he’d started coming home early at least once a week. He should have been happy, his dad urged him to see his therapist again, something he hadn’t done in months. He even set up an appointment. Jeremy should have been happy.

The couch was stiff, it smelled like a weird candle some grandmother would have. As soon as he sat down he regretted coming, all he wanted was to run back outside, to get in the car, to -

“Jeremy?”

“Y..Yeah?”

“I asked what’s been at the forefront of your mind lately?”

There was a beat of hesitation where Jeremy weighed his options, struggling to shut out the voice shouting in the back of his head.

“Everything.. about me is just.. terrible.” His breath caught as he choked on the words. “Everything about me.. makes me.. makes me want to die.”

At the end his voice died out, falling to a whisper. He kept his eyes down, not wanting to see the response to his words. He supposed it wouldn’t be anything special anyways, this was therapy. They probably heard it daily.

“How.. often do you feel this way?”

“Everyday. Every single day.” The floodgates had been broken, information coming easily.

“And do you have plans to follow through?”

Was it just ideation or was it a commitment?

“Yes?”

Did he?

“Jeremy.. there is a very distinct line between feelings of hopelessness and an actual plan. If you have a plan then I’m going to need to call you an ambulance.”

“Uh.. uh huh.”

“So, do you have a plan?”

“No,” it was choked out. A thinly veiled lie. “No.”

“Alright. Okay, you’ve also mentioned feelings of hopelessness and..”

* * *

All the talk of plans planted a seed in Jeremy’s head - did he have a plan? It wasn’t hard to come up with one. The whole drive home he thought about it, getting lost in his head. The drive passed by in what felt like no time at all and he couldn’t help but wonder if any of the lights he’d passed were even green.

There were more important matters in his head. Note? No note?

It wasn’t too late in the day, his dad wouldn’t be home from work for another hour. The house was eerily silent and his head was blaringly loud. The smallest, strangest thoughts filled his head as he struggled up the stairs. 

His dad had bought him a car that summer, he’d have to resell it. 

The house was too big for two people, let alone one. Maybe he’d sell it.

Who would clean up the bathroom?

When he snapped out of it he was shut in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Dark bags hung under his eyes, his cheeks almost looked gaunt, His hair flopped over his forehead, weighed down with grease and grime. The acne scarring on his cheeks almost looked worse. He hadn’t been washing his face, though, he couldn’t be too surprised. A shuddering sigh fell from his lips as he pulled open the medicine cabinet. He only had a small window of time. 

In one hand he held the bottle of his anxiety medication, in the other he held his phone. With one hand he unlocked it, scrolling through his texts until he found Michael’s name. His finger hovered over the keyboard, wanting yet not at the same time. A whine crawled up out of his throat as he set the phone down, instead he opened the pill bottle. 

_ ‘Leave him - you’ve done enough to him. Why bring him back just to ruin him all over again? Selfish. Manipulative. Horrible.’ _

With a deep breath he tipped the bottle into his hand, he’d stopped taking any medication months ago. It didn’t seem to help and he’d often forget it anyways. That left him with a mostly full bottle. Staring down at his unlocked phone he willed a text to come through, something, anything. He didn’t even care who it was from. Minutes ticked by, nothing. A fourth of the bottle felt heavy in his palm and he tipped his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. The overwhelming amount made his mouth feel dusty and he groaned, cupping his hands to bring water up to his mouth, forcing it all down his throat. The water had made them start to dissolve before they made it down, it left a grainy feel on his tongue.

Before he could turn back he tipped another handful out, going through the process faster this time.

Two more handfuls left him with an empty bottle. His throat felt raw and itchy. His head felt heavy. He felt tired.

With a sigh he sunk onto the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest and reaching up to grab his phone off the counter. The texts were still open, blurred words taunting him. Couldn’t he have waited two weeks - a month? It would be the first time in 13 years that he wouldn’t be the first person to wish Michael a happy birthday. At least he had other friends, someone would take his place. Someone probably already had. 

In an odd way it was comforting.

Closing out the texts he opened his notes, lazily typing out whatever he could.

_ micael michaele ugh i giveup mikey mieky my figneers feel heavy. i messed upb ig time. im sorry every day im sorrry i swear. im s fuckup ive always been a fckup. i knew youd b hurt and i still did it i was so tired of everrthni i was. stupid stuopid. ill never be albe to apologixs enouh. the probleme has alwasts been me. i should habe realized sooner. youee the most amazfinx person i ve ever known andd im so proud of you. you er stronfer than icould ever be. _

When he was done he was fighting to keep his eyes open. Staring down at the screen only added to the headache pounding behind his forehead. Trembling fingers swiped before hitting delete. Michael shouldn’t need to feel guilty. Jeremy didn’t necessarily think he would but.. he had to destroy the small chance he might.

A shuddering gasp rushed out and he slid down to lay against the cool tile. Finally he let his eyelids drop, falling closed. The rest was welcomed.

* * *

“Huh?”

When Jeremy blinked his eyes open he was met with a blinding light - he wasn’t the religious type anymore but he was willing to go with whatever now, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Jeremy? Are you awake?”

That wasn’t what he was expecting.

When his eyes adjusted to the light his vision was filled with an overly sterile room and a young woman leaning over him. He shuddered when he noticed the IV in his arm, wanting to scratch at it.

“Okay sweetie, someone is coming in to talk to you. We’re also going to get some food in you soon.”

The mention of food made his stomach roll but he just nodded, wincing at the ache in his skull. His throat felt tight, too tight to formulate a response to her sickly sweet tone.

Instead of being too offended he sunk back down into his bed, swallowing the lump in his throat. The lights still hurt but he couldn’t find it in himself to request for them to be shut off. Either way, he waited too long and the woman was gone, quickly replaced with someone else. If he wasn’t paying attention he would have assumed it was the same person, they were dressed the same and his vision was still a bit hazy.

“Jeremy Heere?”

Not trusting his voice he just nodded, a groan escaping him.

“I’m going to ask you some questions, alright hun?”

Another nod.

“Do you know where you are, and why?”

Eyes wandered across the room, landing on some sort of device wheeled in on a cart, its cord stretched outside of the room. A monitoring device.

“Yeah,” it was weak.

“Can you tell me what led to this?”

“Huh?” There was a crack in his voice - how was he supposed to answer that? “I’m.. d.. depressed?”

The rest of the questions were simple and invasive all at once. He kept his eyes down, answering in a monotone voice. Why did he do it? How long had he thought about it? He relived the moment as he kept recounting all the details.

“Okay, well.. you’re still a minor and your father wants you to be admitted. Someone will be here soon and they’re going to get you transferred over to an inpatient facility.”

Before he could will himself to give any sort of acknowledgement she was gone. He was alone, save for the fact he was being monitored. He couldn’t help but wonder if anyone was really watching, would anyone notice if he did something drastic?

* * *

Jeremy wasn’t sure if it was the lingering nausea and headache or the numbness he’d felt since middle school but.. he didn’t remember most of the process. They let him change, he was allowed some sweatpants and a shirt. The drawstring to hold up the pants was absent and they hung off his hips awkwardly. He gave his backpack one last longing look where his dad held onto it before they led him away. He was sure no texts waited for him but he just wanted to have  _ something  _ to do with his hands. He couldn’t even make shitty art! His pens and pencils were lovingly classified as  _ ‘sharps’  _ and he just felt like a toddler. He couldn’t even have his binder. It made his chest feel hollow. The only comfort was the quiet in his head, the lack of a voice.

By the time he was mentally present enough to process information, Jeremy found himself in some.. institution. Everything was open and.. loud. But oddly quiet and subdued. Once he was presented with his room he laid down, asleep nearly instantly. The next day he’d come to realize he was placed in a room with a few girls - it made him sink back into the blankets and choke back sobs before he was forced up for breakfast. They told him it was for his safety, so he wouldn’t get harassed. So he wouldn’t be in danger from male patients. He didn’t believe it. 

The first day he was barely able to choke down half of his breakfast, by dinner he was only able to manage a fourth of it all. Every time he was chastised for not eating enough he cringed - why couldn’t they realize it was already the most he’d eaten in months? There was already a lot going on for him, the suffocating dysphoria and the embarrassment of not being able to even have shoelaces.

Two months. It went on for two months.

The list of reasons went on and he couldn’t blame them, for once he decided to be honest and his first few evaluations were grim. The first three times they asked him if he had plans to attempt again he nodded with teary eyes. He couldn’t force himself to lie anymore.

While he’d never wish the experience on anyone else his meds started to work, he was able to finish whole meals. There were better ways he could’ve gotten help but he couldn’t deny that it helped. 

By his fourth evaluation he felt shaky but.. mildly confident. When they asked if he had plans he was able to choke out a ‘no’ with as much confidence as he was capable of.

Even the squip had been quiet.

Everything felt fuzzy as he was handed shoes and jeans. His dad pulled him into a hug and handed him his phone before driving him home. Upon arrival he realized how long he’d been gone. His own home felt foreign. His room felt too clean. But it was home, he was home. His phone may have been quiet, he may have been mostly alone but.. he was home. For now that’d be enough. 

For the first week he used his dad’s bathroom, avoiding his own. Some things he just wasn’t ready for.

School was another one of those things but he didn’t have much of a say in that debate. He was lucky they were giving him a chance at graduating on time. He had two more days. Two days to prepare himself to shuffle through the halls of Middle Borough once again. It was almost over, at least. He just had to tell himself that.

A deep anxiety still built in his chest, though. As he laid in bed he couldn’t get himself to sleep - after an hour with no progress he rolled out of bed. With a bit of stumble, he pulled on his jeans and grabbed a stray hoodie off the ground. He wasn’t sure he was making the best choice but it was all he could think of. A last resort.

* * *

**January 13, 11:03 pm** **  
** **jeremy (11:03 pm):** hey dad i dont know if youre awake   
**jeremy (11:03 pm):** im sorry i know its late but im okay i need to do something quick so im not going to be in the house  
**jeremy (11:04 pm):** i promise ill be back before its really really late and i can call you soon but i need to do this

* * *

Without waiting for a response he grabbed his keys and shoved his feet into his converse. He didn’t realize how much he appreciated  _ ‘sharps’  _ and shoelaces, it was nice to have them back.

Thoughts wandered as he walked, arms crossed over his chest to ward off the cold. He supposed he should have gotten a coat but it wasn’t a far walk. It was so ingrained in him that his feet knew exactly where to go. Before he knew it he was crunching over snow covered grass and moving to pull a piece of wood away from where it made a makeshift cover. With a grunt he dropped the few feet into the window well, stumbling a bit. 

Hands shook, half from the cold and half from unrelenting anxieties. Fingers closed into a fist and he was almost paralyzed with his fear, struggling to raise his arm to tap on the glass softly. It wasn’t long before he saw a shadow cross the room, pausing before approaching him. The only sound he heard was the unlatching of the window before the figure backed up. It was too late to turn back. Weak fingers pulled the window open enough so that Jeremy could drop down into the room, his converse tracking in a bit of snow, a rush of cold air seeping in behind him, before he turned to relatch the window behind him. It was only polite.

Fighting the urge to shake all the snow off his body and onto the floor, Jeremy just fidgeted with his hands, nerves bubbling up. 

“Michael?” His own voice sounded unfamiliar to him, breaking in the middle.

“Jeremy?”

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments keep me goin! <3


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